


Hiding in Plain Sight

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just possible that while Sherlock was "dead," he was actually keeping an eye on John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the summer of 2013 when all of Sherlockdom was trying to guess how Sherlock survived the leap from St. Bart's. Not only how he survived, but what did he do for those two years that he was gone. My own theory was that he lived with his himeless network, keeping an eye on John, making sure he was safe, and hiding in plain sight! Please excuse all typos, I am transcribing this from my hand-written fic, trying to edit at the same time! And yes, it does end a bit abruptly. At times my grand ideas come up hard against time constraints. Maybe I'll add another chapter, who knows, maybe I'll just add to this one chapter!

Seeping into his slumbering mind came the shrilling of his alarm clock. He flailed one arm out to grab the offending object, and his fingers automatically found the off switch.  Yes, yes, he was awake, but he didn't sit up and didn't even open his eyes.  Face the day, John Watson told himself, just get up and face the day like any other day, just get through it. Yes, just somehow manage to get through it.

He sighed silently and swung his legs out from under the covers, the shock of the cold floor bringing a bit of life to his thoughts.  Today he was to spend the day with Mary, working their way through a list of errands they had to do NOW, no more putting it off as the wedding was now seven weeks away.  Mary measured time by how many weeks and days until they exchanged their wedding vows, and he pretended to as well.  But on the inside, in the deep and private corner of his mind that he kept locked away, his chronometer kept time in a different manner--counting the hours and days since He Died. He. His Best Friend.  What was it today?  18 months, 4 days and 10 hours. 18 months? He had been told by many people that the dull ache does fade, that you do stop seeing reminders, and you stop thinking that you just saw a glimpse but so far, the wound still felt as fresh as the day he witnessed Him jump of the roof of St. Bart's Hospital.

John forced his mind to shut off the thoughts of that wretched day, of those terrifying last moments.  Time to shower, dress, go get Mary and bloody well complete her list of errands for their wedding day.  In seven weeks, they were getting married. The happiest day of his life, so many of his family and friends had told him that's what it would be. In seven weeks would he finally stop thinking of the passage of time in terms of Him Dying?  One last glance in the mirror showed him not a man who was nearly ready to wed, but instead a man who had been dragged through Hell. OK John, you can do this.  Paste a smile on that face, put one foot in front of the other. Yes, today was Mary's day to boss him around, and in some small way he welcomed that because he probably wouldn't have to think too much.  Nor would he have to be alone with his thoughts. One tear streaked down his face.

He awoke with a start, already sitting up, as it seemed this life trained you to be on the alert at all times, even while napping.  The sun was over the fence, that meant that it was almost 9:00 AM, and he had overslept.  Cursing he scrambled up and grabbed his jacket. He had enough money for breakfast and he knew where he had to go for that.  The previous day he had scouted it out because it was right across from the storefront he needed to watch. It was just a small family-run cafe but the windows were dark and there were pots of flowers and leafy vines hanging down in those windows, so that he could observe and not be observed.

Mary was talking. She had been cute and talkative all morning.  The problem was, if asked, John had no idea what she was talking about.  He had slipped into what he called his polite mode where he seemed to be listening, and could even make appropriate responses if he had to, but there was little chance he could repeat any portion of what had been said to him.  They'd left the florist with the promise to return in the afternoon when the owner's wife would be there and could help Mary make some important decisions.  Mary wasn't happy with the colors or the overall something or other--again, John was in his polite mode--so off they went to pick up the shoes that two of her attendants who had had to get their shoes dyed to match their dresses. Or was it to match the bouquets? He just followed her in to the second shop obediently, prepared to carry whatever it was that they would be picking up.  One foot in front of the other, while his thoughts ran freely...and his stomach rumbled. The smells of breakfast beckoned to him from the cafe across the street, with it's shaded windows and huge hanging plants.  They were ahead of schedule so maybe he could pull the sympathy card.

Scrambled eggs, a sausage, and the cook had given him extra toast and wrapped up some day-old biscuits for him, which he promptly shoved into a pocket.  Under-charged him too, so he could probably have a second meal, maybe something in the evening.  Carefully regarding the shop across the street and picking a table hidden by a large plant, he sat down and began to eat.  Soon a now-familiar blue sedan pulled up, and a pretty blonde woman jumped out of the passenger's side, while a man wearily climbed out fromt he driver's side. He looked ragged, tired, obviously wasn't sleeping well.  His clothes were clean but not smartly pressed so he wasn't paying attention to detail or else his fiancee didn't like to do any ironing.  Fiancee, what an odd term, but he'd force himself to get used to it.  Let's see, if he calculated correctly, the wedding was in...all thought stopped when he saw the man call out and gesture towards the cafe, and then turn to start walking across the street. Towards the cafe!

John pushed open the door and was greeted by a middle aged woman who, for all appearances, worked hard at staying young-looking and attractive.  Recently dyed hair, artfully applied makeup. Oh stop it, John chided himself. He couldn't read people that well, not as well as He used to.  Had John been paying attention, however, he would have noted that the kitchen door was swinging wildly. Instead he skimmed the menu, ordered breakfast and two coffees.

Luckily he knew right where the alley led because he was so busy scolding himself that he wasn't really apaying attention to direction or time.   Finally he paused long enough to finish his now-cold food; he'd learned to eat almost anything no matter what temperature it was.  It bothered him to see John looking so disheveled and disinterested.  What was going on, he shouild be happy, he was getting married soon. He had met a beautiful woman who was obviously not upset with his past and who had obviously fallen deeply in love with him. Soon they would be starting a whole new life. Together.

 It was morning, in fact the sun was beginning to stream into his front window. John caught his alarm before it went off, surpising himself as he hadn't done that in 18 months, three weeks, two days and 11 hours.  His shrink, if he had still been going to her, would have been pleased, no doubt would have called it a break-through of some sort.  He laid there clutching his alarm clock, staring at the ceiling.  Most days just awakening in the morning made him want to roll over and sleep. Not so today. In fact today felt different somehow; it felt or he felt energized and ready to do something, anything that would produce some sort of visible result when he was done.  Maybe work on his long-neglected blog, or maybe shock Mary and offer to help make favors for the reception.  He sat up and was just ready to find his slippers when a thought struck him. Maybe he should go over to the flat and start cleaning it out!  He and Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, had spoken of it several times, but each time they had concluded that it was just too soon.  Today thought, with the energy he felt, he t hought he could finish getting his own possessions packed up, and maybe even make some headway with...His stuff.  Mrs. Hudson had tried to to box the microscope and the bunsen burners and the other scientific paraphenalia that was scattered about the kitchen, but she had given up after filling two boxes.  Two boxes of items she had intended to donate to a local school, but which still sat in the kitchen, as far as he knew.  Having decided his course of action for the day, John rushed through his shower and gulped down his breakfast.  Why did he feel electrified, as if he was late for an appointment or like...well, he just could not shake the feeling that something good would actually come from the day.

"Hello? Mrs. Hudson?" John called out as he entered the foyer of 221B Baker Street.  Mrs. Hidson had insisted that he keep his key to the flat.  Hopefully she was home, as he suddenly felt a wave of sentiment and hoped that perhaps they could talk a bit over a cuppa and biscuits.  Sadly, he hadn't been strong enough in his own wallowing grief to do more than phone her a few times a month.  Today however, maybe they could try to bury some of that grief.

"Oh John!" Mrs. Hudson fairly flew into his embrace. "Oh, it is SO good to see you! My goodness, you look well!"

"It's wonderful; to see you, Mrs. Hudson, and you are looking as lovely as ever!" He grinned at her.  "I thought maybe...." He motioned towards the steps that led up to the flat where he had lived what now seemed like such a very brief time with Him.

Mrs. Hudson peered at him, a look of concern on her face. "I've not touched a thing since I tried to pack those two boxes, dear, I just can't!  I loved that boy as my own, even if he did take his moods out on the walls."  She patted his arm.  Well, alright, let me get you some supplies.  I do have bags, maybe even a coupke of boxes."

"Yes, yes, I didn't even think to bring any with me! And we must sit..."

"Yes, over a good cuppa, John, we must!"

He had managed to shadow the shorter man the whole way, from his efficiency to the flst on Baker Street.  First John had walked the few blocks to a main route, then he hailed a cab, and then for some reason he got out of the cab and had walked the last block to the flast, his stride steady, never wavering.  As he studied the shorter man from a distance, he could tell by the line of his jaw that he was determined, resolute.  Yes, he was going to see Mrs. Hudson and no doubt also the flat.  As he stood, momentarily uncertain, an old habit came back and in one deft move he turned up the collar of his Belstaff Milford and sjoved his hands into the pockets.  Yes, today!

"Oh Mrs. Huidson!" John called from his old second floor bedroom. "My room...uhhh....THIS room is clean, even the floor." Hands on hips, he inspected the cleaning job he had just completed.  "I'm sure once we're done, you won't have a problem letting the place out.  He heard footfalls on the steps. Odd, it didn't sound right, it wasn't Mrs. Hudson. Was it Lestrade popping over to see him? He hurried down the steps from the second floor and paused as the door swung open and...

"Hello John."

John dropped the bucket, the mop, the bag, the cleaning rags. He felt the breath woosh out of his lungs even as he tried to inhale. His hands gripped his hair or his head or something in the general vicinity as all rational thought fled his stunned brain.  

"Jesus! JEEE-ZUSSS!!!!!!!!" Now he grabbed at the tall man in the long coat, gave him a shake and just stared at him. "Jesus H. Christ on a bike.....SHERLOCK??? No way, not possible!"  He was gasping, his lungs seemed unable to function correctly.  "Not possible.....Jesus, Sherlock!?!?!"  Tears were streaming down John's face, and he had no idea if he should br angry or overjoyed because He...his friend who had jumped from the 7 story-high roof of St. Bart's Hospital was standing before him. Or was he?  Had he fallen and hit his head, was he dreaming or hallucinating??

"John, it's really me," Sherlock spoke as though reading John's mind. "I'm alive, John. I had to...well, we need to talk."  That voice, that resonant purring voice, and now there were tears on Sherlock's face as well.

"Christ Sherlock, where the HELL have you been?? Hm? Two years, Sherlock, two bloody, awful years!!"

"Hiding in plain sight, John, and following you. You are getting married quite soon." Sherlock paused as he peeled off his coat and hung it on the hook on the back of the door as if he'd been gone only a few hours. "I've been living with the homelss, watching over you, watching out for you."

"Hiding in..." John's jaw dropped. "Have I seen you?? Did I see you?" Sherlock gave him one of his patented smirks in reply.  "How did....How on earth did I not notice you?? Oh my God!!"

"I coiuldn't let you see ME, but I have been watching over you, and Inspector Lestrade and of course Mrs. Hudson."

"Does she.."

"No, I need to re-introduce myself gradually, don't you think?"  Sherlock glanced towards the kitchen.  "Care for a cuppa and we can sit and talk. I need to explain a few things. Well, maybe more than a few things."

John couldn;t even answer, didn't even care to try to answer. His arms were around Sherlock and his face was buried against his chest. He was never letting go of Sherlock Holmes again.


End file.
